


To Love

by thewakeless



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Dan and Phil World Tour 2018: Interactive Introverts, Discussions of Homophobia, Emotional, M/M, Russia, Sad?, discussions on coming out, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewakeless/pseuds/thewakeless
Summary: dan, phil, moscow, and the overbearing emotional toll of being in the closet.





	To Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovestillaround](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovestillaround/gifts).

The ravaged sleep schedules turn everything the wrong way around. Nights never feel like nights. Days don't feel like days. Their world is moving – quite literally – bouncing between the cities of Europe, always at airports, in vans, in trains. Sleeping when they can, getting used to standing in front of thousand every nice and doing their best to live up to their expectations. 

"Where are we?" Phil mumbles when he wakes up in an unfamiliar bed.

Thankfully the person beside him is very familiar. "Moscow," Dan answers, leaning down to plant a kiss on his cheek. He's shirtless and the light of his laptop makes his skin look almost blue. 

Phil frowns. "Florida?"

Dan bursts out laughing. "My god, your sense of geography is astounding."

Phil slumps into a sitting position and runs a hand through his hair. They are in a small, but rather fancy hotel room. Heavy, blue curtains over the window, and a TV in front of them. He blinks and focuses his brain for a moment. "Russia," he says finally.

"Yeah, Russia, good job Phil," says Dan encouragingly.

"What time is it?"

"11 AM."

Phil groans and pulls the sheets over his head. "Do we have a show tonight."

"Nope, not till tomorrow."

"Oh, thank god." His back is sore, he hadn't slept at all on the plane. "Did you sleep?" he asks. 

"I did been up for about an hour watching you sleep."

The corner of Phil's mouth twitches. "Creep."

"Just living up to my reputation."

Phil stretches and puts one of his legs over Dan's. "Can we have food delivered?"

"Yeah, I was waiting for you."

"Do you think they sell pancakes?"

Dan sighs. "Your such an addict!"

"It's a good food," Phil protests. 

Dan grabs the menu from the nightstand and looks it over. "They do have pancakes, I'll order you some, and I guess I'll get eggs or something-" he is about to reach over for the phone when something stops him. 

"Did you change your mind? Are you feeling pancakes too?"

"No," Dan shakes his head. "Maybe you should call?" he says. "This is your room."

"Right," Phil grabs the phone Dan hands him and makes the call while his boyfriend is in the bathroom. Neither discusses the necessity of this, it is too common an occurrence, but both feel it seep into their quiet morning, tinging everything. 

When the food arrives, Dan hides. And Phil blushes as he realizes that he clearly ordered two meals. He hopes that the man who brought them up just thought he was starving, and not anything else. They sit on the bed together, their plates on pretty wooden trays. They watch Russian teli to ease the silence and try to guess what the news anchors are talking about it. It turns out more fun than either expected and by the time they are done eating both are giggly and ready for a day as obnoxious picture-taking tourists.

-

They could not have asked for a nicer day. The air is fresh, the sky patchy, and everything is warm and sunshiny without being too hot. Their hotel has an excellent location and their first stop, the Red Square, is not far away. Dan makes Phil carry the backpack as always, and they leave the hotel room together, trusting google translate, and the English skills of the locals to get them back safely. 

As they walk there Dan tells him all the bit and pieces he can remember about this place from the Wikipedia page. "It's called red, because the word red in Russian is really similar to the word beautiful. Until the 18th century, most of the structures here were made out of wood. The Cathedral was made in the 16th century to look like a bonfire going up into the sky..."

Dan rambles on for a while, and Phil loses track of what he is saying. He wants to breathe the city in. Take in the details. The people, and the sounds, and also how pretty Dan looks with sunshine in curls, and his ridiculously expensive sunglasses. "Are you even listening to me?" he says, as Phil's eyes follow two little girls in matching outfits. 

"Yes..." he answers in an unconvincing tone. 

Dan rolls his eyes. "So uncultured." They smile at each other and continue walking. Phil knows his boyfriend well enough to understand and anticipate most of his gestures. He knows that if they were alone right now Dan would have leaned in for a kiss. 

"Everything is just too _pretty_ for me to focus on facts," when he says pretty he is looking straight at Dan. 

"Ridiculous," he answers. 

They take pictures together in front of the Basilica, and Kremlin, and Lenin's Mausoleum. They circle the place, moving with the crowd, and then follow the signs through the touristy area. They find themselves in a closed-off block, with pretty lights, and fancy pastel buildings hosting coffee shops and restaurants. Phil walks slowly, stopping to admire a dog, and a window display, and a stained glass window with gold frames. He takes a picture of Dan standing several feet away from him, looking exasperated and ridiculously hot. 

"Okay, I'll hurry up," he says. 

Dan smiles at him. "It's alright. I do want food at some point though."

"Yeah, same."

They choose a corner restaurant, with a patio at the front, and order fancy coffees and cakes. "The sugar on this tour is going to kill us if sleep deprivation doesn't," Dan says as he puts the tip of his tongue on his drink. 

"You're so cute," Phil says. 

Dan's eyes shift around the room. There doesn't seem to be anyone looking at them. "I just wanted to see if the temperature was right?"

"With your tongue? Isn't that what you'd use a finger for?"

"Your right again Phil," Dan sighs, before taking a proper drink. "It's pretty good though."

"I'm glad," Phil picks up his own and blows on it. He doesn't know why it feels different here, but it does. They are always cautious, in every country that they're at. Even when they are back home they are cautious. They try not to stand too close to each other, and they don't do things that other normal friends do, they don't hug, they don't put an arm around each other, they have as little physical contact as possible. That feels prudent, safe, but here all of it is amplified. And he finds himself questioning and second-guessing the things he says. 

Do heterosexual male friends call each other cute? 

He takes the cake into his mouth to try to escape the train of thought. "You okay?" Dan asks, in a whisper. If they were alone Dan's hand would be on his knee. He misses the weight of it. 

"Yeah," he answers, although both of them know this isn't fully true. Dan gives him a sympathetic smile. 

"Do you wanna us go back? Get some rest?" _Be alone_. The promise is in there somewhere. 

Phil shakes his head. "We're only here for a few days, let's keep going," he picks up his cup again. "Before it kills us sugar will energize us."

Their next stop is the * Pond. Technically they could walk there in about 30 minutes, but instead, they choose to hop on the Metro. The station is sleek and futuristic looking, and the trains smaller than those in England. People stare at them as they duck in through the small doors. There are only 2 stops to go so neither sit down. Dan has put his sunglasses on top of his curls, and he is giving Phil a foodie review of their cake as if he was in a cooking show. 

"It had good almond taste and a really satisfying texture, but I feel that it wasn't sweet enough, ya know mate? Like when I eat cake, I want it to overwhelm, and I didn't quite get that. I think it didn't have enough frosting. Everything is better with sauces you know, it needs some like jelly or whip cream or something."

Phil agrees with him, but again he finds himself easily distracted. He looks at the old man staring at his newspaper, and a couple of teenagers in uniforms, giggling and falling over each other, with phones in their hands. "We should probably have something healthy for dinner."

"Probably," Dan says. "A salad?" He teases, Phil is not fond of salad.

"If we must." He sways with the movement of the train, moves almost imperceptibly closer to him. They've only been out a few hours and he already misses his touch. The reassurance of his warmth. Usually, it is quite alright, this is just how they live their lives, but today it feels more overwhelming, he has no idea why. 

They get off their stop and climb up what feels like a thousand steps to the park. "Come on old man," Dan shouts back from the top. "You can do it!"

When Phil catches with him he's scowling. "How dare you? I'm only 31."

Dan giggles, a real proper giggle, and both of them instantly look around. Phil isn't sure what they expect to happen. That police will descend on them at the slightest sign of anything not compatible with male stereotypes probably. He has always been paranoid. And here he's even worse. He turns to look down the street at the mass of green. "Guessing that's the park?"

"Let's hope so," Dan says, and they cross the street over to it. 

The "pond" is actually a huge square thing, which reflects the city beautifully. In the winter it is used for ice skating and has a pretty yellow gate for people to descend onto it. But the warmth of the weather and the niceness of the day changes the place entirely. Everything is green and vibrant, there are kids and couples, and young people on bikes. 

They breathe in the fresh air together and begin circling the lake. The water reflects the sunshine, and the trees, and the white-washed buildings behind them. It trickles and moves, full of sun and color. "It looks like an impressionist painting," says Dan. Phil agrees. There are patches of soft grass. He finds himself looking at the people on them. Students. Business people taking lunch. Old people walking their dogs.

He wants them to sit together on the grass, and to haven't Dan's head on his lap, under the sun. He wants that in England too, and in the states, he wants that everywhere, wants him everywhere. He stops walking. "You okay?" Dan says. He reaches into the backpack and takes out a water bottle. "Dehydrated?"

"No," he makes sure there is no one close enough to listen and then whispers. "I just miss you."

Dan laughs. "What do you mean? I'm right here?"

Is he? Phil looks at him, and Dan seems to deflate before his eyes. "Oh," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. And here it is, the thing they don't speak about in England, coming out almost 3,000 km from home. Dan shuffles on his feet. "Do you-" he stops himself and looks around again. 

Phil goes as close as possible to the water and gestures for Dan to follow. They stand in front of a railing, a breeze comes through. They both stare down at their reflection. Phil focalizes on the gap between their arms, between their bodies. "I'm sorry to bring it up."

"It's fair," Dan answers, his tone flat. 

"Don't you feel it here more?" Phil asks him. 

Dan frowns. "Whatcha mean?"

He raises his head. He scans the many people around them. Looks at their clothes and gestures. He doesn't think any of them are like them, but then who is he to say? Maybe they just hide better than they are able. "If we lived here-" said Phil. "We would never even think about coming out." He watches Dan staring down at his shoes. "You know we couldn't. We could get fired, evicted..." he lets his voice trail off. 

For a moment, the gap between their arms vanishes and he feels the brush of Dan's sweater against his skin, and then it's retracted again. "And people have to live like that," Phil continues. "All their lives like that. Hiding. Being careful."

"That's what we do," Dan answers very quietly. 

"I know. But we wouldn't lose jobs. We couldn't get evicted. We have protections."

"Until they don't work-" he whispers. "There's no assurances you know. Hate crimes still happen, even in London, and my-" he stops himself. 

Phil wants to put an arm around him, but he can't and they both know he can't. "I'm not saying things aren't hard for us," he stops his sentence as a girl in a bike passes behind them. "But at least it's an option for us. There are so many people that don't have that."

It is always a joy when in London, or L.A to see men holding hands, to see girlfriends with their arms around each other. That might not be something he and Dan ever do, or ever feel capable of doing, but just seeing it always brings hope and joy. He still remembers the first time he saw a gay couple. It was on a visit to Manchester, at a cafe, when he was about 10. The two men had held hands over the table, visibly and defiantly queer. It had left a big impression. Now their faces and clothing were faded but Phil would forever remember the gesture. And the bravery it had taken. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell my family."

Phil looks away from water into Dan's pale face. "I'm sorry too, but I get it, and I don't know that it was the best timing, with the tour happening and all."

"You're always so nice to me. I should have done it a long time again."

"You'll do it when you're ready."

Dan slouches and in the pond, the distance between them vanishes again. Their shoulders touch, their arms. If they were alone together Phil knowns that Dan's head would be on his shoulder, that his arms would be around Phil's waist. But here they don't have that option, and for that moment touching shoulders is enough. "Someday, right?"

"Someday," Phil whispers back. 

They walk around the pond. They find birds to feed. They sit down on a bench and take pictures of each other. When the sky begins getting cloudy they walk back to the hotel together.

Phil goes to the room first. He grabs his laptop and distracts himself as he waits. 10 minutes later Dan sneaks in with his spare key. They smile sheepishly at each other. This sneaking around is normal too. Unfortunate but so ingrained Phil wonders if they will ever be able to stop.

He gets off the bed and wraps his arms around him. His warmth is everything. The smell of his hair, his clothes, his breathing. All of it comforting and familiar. They sway in place, Dan's arms around his neck, Dan's head against his shoulder. "We're so lucky," Phil whispers. 

Dan sniffles. "Yeah."

He kisses the top of his head. "I love you."

"Love you."

Strange, how love can be defiance. How love can be revolution. How love can be feared. How love can be hated. Strange, that any two people should be barred from loving each other because of something as silly as their gender. 

Dan's hand strokes his back, and Phil hums contently into his touch. 

Someday. 

**Author's Note:**

> gurk this is for you, and for every lovely queer person in a country that fails to recognize or protect our rights. may we all have "someday" real real soon. 
> 
> happy birthday <3


End file.
